


The Cradle of Life (Or: Aich is a Weenie and Loves the Twins too Much)

by EssayOfThoughts



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Alcohol warning, Co-Dependency, Fix-it fic, Grief, Midnight Conversations, Other, Tony is an arse, Wanda is stubborn, Wanda is very good at finding memories, blood warning, drinking game, friendship interactions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:04:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3956923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is hard to live, when half of you is gone.  The twins had never been apart for long, and to be divided by death only made the usual ache of it worse. Wanda still remembers the feeling as her brother was torn from her, the pain that she felt from his mind, and the sudden vanishing of his conciousness.</p><p><b>Authors Note:</b> You can read only the first Chapter, and the story make sense. The last two chapters are simply aftermath of the first, and ultimately making a few points about the twins. Consider Chapters 2+3 appendixes, more than anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wanda sat often in the morgue, when she wasn’t training. When the nights were too dark, or aches from training hurt too much for her to sleep, she went down to the morgue they’d been forced to build, and she would sit by Pietro.

She had not yet let them bury him.

The morgue was a small room, and cold, so she would wrap herself in a shawl, and curl up small, perched on a chair beside the tray that held her brother. She missed his presence. Missed the constant chatter of his mind, missed his constant movement, missed how he would loom behind her if he thought she was being threatened, and how he always **_listened_** and helped her when she asked.

She had missed it from the first moment his mind had been ripped from hers, a hail of bullets causing brief agony and then… nothing. She had killed Ultron for it, but it did not help. She wanted to tear him apart again, and again, and again, until it was as though Ultron had never been there at all. Until her brother stood beside her again.

The morgue was peaceful. Soft sounds from the state-of-the-art air conditioning Stark had had installed, the sound of her breathing. The lights never hummed, because she never turned them on. Just sat, in the dark, until she felt alright.

 

* * *

 

Her dreams had been different since the battle. Usually she would get dribs and drabs from her brother’s thoughts, fragments of memories from the experiments that had shaped them, but now…

They were memories from her brother, with only a few of her own. Events matched with his affectionate sarcasm, a running commentary like Pietro used to give on one breath of air. Memories of her own, sometimes. But always, always, the memory then from his perspective. His commentary, his laughter. She had always known, instinctively, that he would protect her. She had not realised quite how far that was true. She had no nightmares those nights.

 

* * *

 

“Are you alright?”

The voice startled Wanda, where she was perched by her brother, as did the lights as they hummed on. She curled smaller, turning her head to catch the silhouette of Natasha by the door.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. said you would be down here. Nightmare?”

Wanda considered shaking her head, but spoke instead, “I could not sleep. Sitting with him helps.”

She heard the scrape of a chair being dragged across hard concrete, and a _thunk_ as it was set down. Natasha herself was only a whisper. “You can’t let him stay in there forever, you know. Doctor Cho wants us to take him out and put him in the Cradle so he doesn’t rot before the funeral.”

Wanda twitched at the thought, “No.”

“Then you will bury him?” Natasha’s voice probing, pushing.

Wanda’s was quiet, “No.”

“So you let him haunt you? You can’t go on like that. Ask Steve, or Sam, or Colonel Rhodes. Ask me. Sometimes you have to let people go.”

Wanda laughed; a dry, cold thing. “Like you did Banner?”

“Hulk doesn’t die that easy.”

The unspoken words hung in the air, hovered in Natasha’s mind and Wanda could **feel** them. _Pietro did._

They were quiet for a while. The soft sounds of the air conditioning, the hum of the light, the rhythm of their breath. Wanda glanced to the door that stood between her brother’s body and her. It was cold, she knew. She had opened it once, and promptly been sick. It was hard to see her brother dead. _Almost_ , she reminded herself, _as bad as feeling him die_. She did not touch the door any more. It kept the cold in, and kept Pietro preserved. That was enough.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. has been going over comms from the battle.” Natasha’s voice was soft, and Wanda barely listened. “Will you answer a question for me? Is it true what you said to Ultron? That you felt your brother die?”

Wanda’s flinch almost sent her off the chair, but Natasha’s hands were gentle as they caught her. Wanda nodded, shaken, as she settled onto the chair again.

“Were your minds linked because of Strucker and List’s experiments, or because of you?”

Wanda didn’t answer. Natasha’s voice placed no blame, though Wanda half-expected the assassin to want to lash out at someone, for her failure to find Banner again. The question turned in Wanda’s mind, slow and gentle, and then spinning faster, as a rogue memory from Pietro rushed through her thoughts. The answer was lost. She shrugged.

“I wondered, since Helen mentioned the Cradle again,” Natasha said, her voice gentler than Wanda had ever heard it. “If your mind was linked to your brother you might be able to find fragments of his mind in yours, as Stark found J.A.R.V.I.S. in the net.”

Wanda didn’t need Natasha to make the next leap, her mind did it herself, the thoughts so open in Natasha’s mind that it was instinctive to take them into her own. “If Pietro is in my mind we might be able to put him in a body, as Ultron tried to do, and as Stark tried to do.” She sounded hopeful.

Natasha nodded. “We’d need the Cradle, and you’d need to find him. We’d need Thor again likely, for the energy required. But if you can find him…”

“I have my brother back.”

Natasha nods, and stands. She does not offer a hand, and turns the lights out as she leaves. Wanda does not sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Wanda is exhausted, but pushes through training. The moment she can beg a break she is digging into her own mind again, finding every memory of her brother’s that appeared with his death, every fragment of his speeding thought, of his sarcasm and affection, every ounce of him she could eke from her own mind she did, and she sets them to one side.

It takes _days_. On the third she nods when Doctor Cho gently asks to put Pietro in the Cradle, and asks if he can stay in there, just for a few days more. Wanda is certain it would only take a few days more.

 

* * *

 

The next day Wanda sinks into her mind. Midway between meditation and dreams she tugs and twists her own mind around, and the brother-mind she has been shaping, setting them a-dancing and watching to see what shakes loose.

Memories.

Memories cascade over her, memory after memory after memory.

She drowns in them.

 

* * *

 

_She is a child, she is ten, and she is hidden under stone and rubble. She curls into her brother, feels his arms wrap around her. Together they stare at the metal across the chamber, and read the letters on it, over and over and over._

_STARK INDUSTRIES_

_A name they promise then to hate forever._

 

* * *

 

_They are on the streets, hand in hand. One of the increasing upsets caused them to be thrown out of their foster home, and now they survive day to day, Pietro filching food, picking pockets, Wanda begging coins and attention from any she can. At night they curl between bins, Pietro wrapped around his sister, giving her all the warmth he can._

 

* * *

 

_They protest together. When one is pulled away by police the other starts a fight to follow. They’re put in neighbouring cells, before they’re released, and hold hands through the bars._

 

* * *

 

_Once, someone asks if they’re married._

_“Siblings on the streets, lovers in the sheets, eh?” They leer with broken teeth, and one clatters to the ground when Wanda punches them._

 

* * *

 

_When Strucker and List’s men start finding people to experiment on they decide together. Wanda argues for it, Pietro provides the counter. They agree it is their best hope for vengeance._

_They march to the old castle, use Wanda’s trickery and ability to distract, and Pietro’s speed to get most of the way in before the men catch them. They demand to see Strucker, and List too. Demand to join the experiments. They tell him of the vengeance they seek and with a mocking laugh Strucker has them join the ones he collected._

_That night is the first time they’ve slept apart that they can remember._

 

* * *

 

_The better they do the more privileges they get. The first they ask, the one they always ask, is to be allowed into each other’s rooms. The others ask for more food, for media, for rest, one asks to be allowed to kill. The twins ask only for each other._

_When the retrovirus, constructed from Chitauri blood, and the magic of the sceptre, rips through them and the other subjects, they curl together on the floor of Pietro’s room, feeling as though their bones will shake apart._

_They go from ten to six in one night._

 

* * *

 

_The night after, they are four. Pietro’s quakes have worsened. From the jitters he got when he was feeling useless to constantly, as a fast as the wings of a fly. Wanda’s have slowed, and turned inward. She can feel it rattling through her mind, shaking loose memories she’d hidden from herself, memories of their parents, crushed beneath stone, memories of the weeping they heard through the rubble._

_Wanda tucks her face into Pietro’s neck, and pulls her brother closer._

 

* * *

 

_“I think I’m going to die,” she whispers to him that night, as her fever grows. She wants to sob, but she has sweated too much liquid to have tears. “It hurts too much, Pietro, please.”_

_Pietro tucks her closer, and his shakes are so fast his body seems to be humming. “You won’t die. You can’t die. We have to live, for our parents, remember? You’re going to be alright.” He rocks her gently back and forth, forcing himself upright, leaning back against the wall, Wanda in his lap. “Remember what mum would say. ‘Hold on. Just one more minute. Then the fever is gone’-”_

_“-‘and you are healed.'” Wanda finishes the phrase as the memory fills her mind. It does not feel quite right, the memory, but the words **are** right, just as they both said. She curls against Pietro, and lets him rock them both to sleep, a half forgotten lullaby on his lips._

 

* * *

 

_The next day Pietro’s shakes are stopped. He is still jittery, and shaky, but they have stopped. Wanda’s mind still throws up odd memories, and sometimes she catches glimpses of scarlet and swears she must still be feverish. The remaining other two are recovering as well. They are not so far along as the twins. One – ex-police – insists he is well and pushes himself onward in their training. When he collapses at the end of the day, Wanda swears she hears him whisper, “I’m going to die.”_

_Pietro swears the man said nothing._

_The other – ex-military – knows when to call a break for herself. Though the next day they are down to three, she is still there, and she pushes on, resting regularly._

_Two days later she too is dead._

 

* * *

 

_Strucker and List seem most put out to have lost most of their subjects, and more to have nothing to show for it. They hear the Doctor discussing new experiments and curl together on Wanda’s bed to distract themselves from the idea of further changes to be wrought on them. Pietro tells her about his dream, the night before._

_“Butterflies,” he said. “Pale blue ones. We were chasing them through the wood.” He laughs a moment, “I was faster.”_

_Wanda elbows him, but knows he is probably right. While she could pick pockets too, he was faster, and when it came to running away, he was faster than anyone, even when he was carrying her._

_“Why were we chasing them?” Wanda tilts her head back against Pietro’s shoulder, looking up at her brother. He is getting streaks of silver and grey in his hair and Wanda reaches her hand up to tangle in it. Pietro shrugs._

_“I don’t know. You said they’d be there.”_

_It is then that Wanda remembers her own dream, of chasing blue wisps in the wood, and watching as Pietro leapt ahead._

 

* * *

 

_The next day Pietro is jumpy again. Wanda touches his arm, asks if he’s alright. His smile is tight as he replies, “Not really. I don’t think my shakes went away. I think they just got faster.”_

_Wanda cannot feel any shakes, and simply rubs his arm. “Maybe they will make you faster,” she says, comfortingly. “Maybe you will be faster than anyone.”_

_The laugh Pietro gives is forced, but he presses a kiss to her hair anyway. “Maybe, sister. Maybe.”_

 

* * *

 

_They are tested separately, after List hears the last of that conversation, but they still curl up together when time comes to sleep, and tell the other about their day. Once they hear List laugh, and call them children for their closeness, and they each have to stop the other from punching the man._

 

* * *

 

_After a few days Wanda can watch through Pietro's eyes when he trains._

 

* * *

 

_A few days more and Pietro can watch through hers._

 

* * *

 

The memories continue, but Wanda has had enough of nostalgia. She pushes herself to the surface, and wades through them, calling out.

_Pietro! Pietro, can you hear me?_

 

* * *

 

There is a memory that is not hers.

_Sharp edged and crystalline, it is a paler set of colours than her own saturated memory has it, but it is the same. It is the ship they went to with Ultron. Wanda watches as Clint turns, presses an arrow to her forehead and she drops to the ground convulsing. She does not feel the pain. She feels her brother’s concern, his worry, his fear for her, feels how she felt to him as he scooped her up, plucked the arrow from her brow and took her clear of the fight._

Wanda follows the memory deeper.

 

* * *

 

_Pietro! Pietro, can you hear me?_

It feels as though the call is echoing through her mind, a wind with no chimes.

_You promised you would find me after the battle! Do not make me find you alone, Pietro, please!_

 

* * *

 

_She feels him die. The memory sucked her in too quickly for her to brace herself and the pain is as fresh as ever. She feels the bullets strike, one two three four, the last getting caught in his shoulderblade. She sees through his eyes as he speaks to Clint, and then…_

_It is different. She feels his mind leaving, not fading. Feels it bolt from his dying brain to her vibrant one, forcing its way down the bridge between their minds, leaping for safety, fast as neurons firing, fast as only her brother can be. She follows the memory, and finds him, nestled, comatose, in the back of her brain._

 

* * *

 

_Pietro? Pietro, can you hear me?_

She is gentle with the silvered mind. Her mind is bright around them, gold and brown, scarlet and black, colours saturated so richly they might blind the mind bleached of colour.

_Pietro, Pietro, please._

She considers moving this mind into the nest of memories which are not hers, but decides it is too delicate. She is good, she knows. She is not that good. She would not risk her brother’s mind on her skill, not yet.

She finds herself singing to him. Calling up the lullaby he’d sung to her, she sings it back to him. Of wisps in the wood, of butterflies, she calls up the memories, carefully leached of colours, and sets them dancing around the silvered mind, to the tune of the lullaby.

She watches, and she sings.

 

* * *

 

She is not sure how long it takes. She is not sure how long she has spent in her mind, just that no one has woken her yet. She imagines the Vision could pull her out, if it came to it, and decides it cannot have been that long. She sings to her brother’s mind again, and watches, at last, as blue seeps in, as grey does, and she stretches out scarlet fingers to gently greet him.

He is not aware, per se. She does not have the mental space free for a second mind, and that he was able to find enough to sleep in was a small miracle. She teases his mind gently, pulls and tugs, and gently nestles him into the construct of memories she found. The crystalline ones, the faded ones. The ones with his laugh, his commentary, or his perception. When it is finally done she knows she smiles.

_Now. He must be returned home._

 

* * *

 

When she wakes she is in medical. She pulls things from her forehead, a tube from her arm, and rises. The doors open before her whether they want to or not, and she makes her way on bare feet to the room with Pietro’s Cradle.

She is not so surprised, to find Natasha there.

“You found him?”

Wanda nods, and presses her fingers to the lid of the Cradle. She can feel the shape of her brother’s body in there, his nerves, his brain. They are not alive enough for this. “Do you know how to wake him?”

Natasha nods, and reaches for the console, tapping a few parts, and pulling the tablet free. Wanda feels when enough energy seeps in for her brother’s body to start to live again. She sits beside the Cradle, fingers pressed to the lid, as she waits for the brain to wake up enough for her to show her brother the way home.

 

* * *

 

It is only a few minutes before they are joined by another. The Vision steps through the door, and quickly closes it behind himself. He only watches, at first, and Wanda does not mind his presence. Then he speaks.

“I am glad you are alright.”

Wanda gives the smallest smile at the android’s eternal benevolence, and twists how her fingers are set on the Cradle. A small spark of happy scarlet darts over her shoulder, before fading to nothing.

“Agent Romanoff told me that you might need the Odinson’s help, to bring your brother back.”

Wanda does not speak, but does turn to glance at the android, and nod. She notices that in his hands is a hammer.

The Vision offers a small smile. “I have been lent it, for this one thing.”

For the first time in weeks, Wanda truly smiles.

 

* * *

 

She feels when her brother’s brain is ready, and starts slipping memories in. She cannot send her brother’s mind in blind, so she will make a shell of memories first, and remake the bridge they once shared. Then she starts the process of waking her brother’s mind.

It is hard to hold two whole, full, and separate minds in one brain, and be aware of both, and Wanda almost folds with the strain. She feels a hand touch her spine, and some extra flow of mental energy. She feels a shawl slip over her shoulders, and tuck around her arms.

“Agent Romanoff and I are here, Miss Maximoff.”

The android’s voice is a comfort and Wanda smiles again, and starts to show her brother the bridge to his own brain.

 

* * *

 

It takes time to tease him across, and part of the way through Stark comes in, asking what the hell they think they’re doing with another experiment if he’s not allowed to join. The Vision’s calm voice explains to Stark, and Wanda senses his mind as he settles into a chair in the corner.

She knows when her brother is fully across, when he is home.

_Wanda… why can’t I move?_

 She laughs aloud at that, and sends the concept across the bridge to him, along with an explanation. She knows her voice sounds smiling to him, and it pleases her.

_We are going to wake you, Pietro. Just be patient._

He huffs at her, almost teasing.

_When have I ever been patient, sister?_

She steps back from the Cradle, still touching the sole conscious part of her brother’s newly woken mind, and nods to Vision.

“He is ready.”

The Vision spins the hammer in a circle, and outside, stormclouds begin to form.

“If he’s the conductor, you’re Frankenstein, and your brother’s the monster, who gets to be Igor, me or Nat?” asks Stark with a grin.

The Vision spins the hammer faster, and Wanda can hear it thrumming in the air. Outside the thunder rumbles.

“You, obviously,” says Natasha. “You’re the one who had a metal heart.”

Stark laughs. “So cruel! But it’s fair. I **did** pay for the place after all.”

Wanda tunes them out, focussing on her brother, and on the hammer spinning in the Vision’s hand.

_Soon, brother. This may hurt._

_When has it not?_ His mind asks back.

Wanda steps back further, and nods when the Vision glances to her.

The hammer comes ringing down, and with it comes the lightning.

 

* * *

 

The explosion throws them back to the walls, except for the Vision, who stays, hovering over the Cradle. Wanda can hear her brother’s hands thumping against the lid, and runs to help the Vision remove the lid, to grasp her brother’s hand, to pull him out.

He is taller than her, taller than normal, standing in the Cradle, and almost collapses against her shoulder.

“Wanda,” he breathes. For a minute he says nothing else, and the Vision helps her guide her brother from the Cradle. But it is Pietro, and he is never quiet for long. “What happened? What did you do? Was I-”

She cradles his face in her hands. “You were in my mind. You were shot in the battle, and your body died, so you went down the bridge to my mind. I kept getting your memories in my dreams.”

She is speaking Sokovian, she realises, and she is crying. She is holding her brother in her arms again, and she pulls him closer. He is still wearing the clothes he died in; she hadn’t allowed them to strip him to put him in the morgue, and apparently they’d remembered that putting him in the Cradle. The dry blood on his shirt crinkles and goes soft again when her tears hit it.

She realises Pietro is singing to her, singing the lullaby, and she laughs, and pokes his ribs.

She sets her head against his shoulder, feels his hands rise to tangle in her hair, and rock them both from side to side.

“I’m glad you’re back.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One does not simply _bring back the **dead**_. It takes some getting used to, for the others, and longer to get used to the twins closeness.

The next few days they are inseparable. Pietro has no room of his own yet, so he stays in Wanda’s. Sam and Natasha help them wrestle in a whole new bed, which is set at right angles to Wanda’s own. When they fall asleep they hold hands in the gap, and when they wake they find they have crawled toward each other’s pillows.

Doctor Cho is concerned about what they did, bringing someone back from the dead, but her technology is perfect and there is nothing physically wrong with Pietro. Sam thinks he should see a therapist, but Pietro trusts Wanda’s handiwork.

“She is my sister,” he says to Sam, smiling. “If I cannot trust her, who can I trust?”

The look Sam gives them is not exactly agreeing, and Wanda plucks his concerns from his mind. She shares them with Pietro and he scoffs in the bridge between their minds. Sam worries that she made her brother as she wanted him to be, rather than as he was, but the two of them have known each other forever.

To reshape Pietro wrong would make her wrong herself.

 

* * *

 

When they start training Cap suggests they should try working apart. This does not exactly surprise them. They had trained apart under Strucker and List, and see no reason it should be different here. One day, when Barton is visiting, he lets out a sigh, audible from where he is in the rafters, and swings down to talk to Rogers.

They start training together after that.

 

* * *

 

Their dreams begin to interlink again, memories of training, games in ever-changing dreamscapes, their minds spinning together in ways only Vision might possibly comprehend.

They move more smoothly together in training after those nights, their minds still interwoven through the bridge. Sometimes Natasha watches them closely, and shakes her head, before looking back to the tablet she uses to try to track down Banner.

They know, by now, what all the glances, and close looks and odd decisions mean. They remember what the street kids would say about them, what the police would say about them, how List called them childish, and how that one person had suggested they were lovers.

They are not.

They need no lovers, not when they have each other, and that is the misinterpretation everyone makes. They take no other companions, not when they can have each other. The have only ever had each other, and that has always been enough.

Vision seems as though he understands, sometimes. He never interrupts them when they are talking with each other, never questions movements they make in training that are not ones trained, and nods approvingly when the change allows them something that only works because of their minds’ bridge. The Captain tends to correct them, and though Colonel Rhodes will let them explain, the effort is often more than it’s worth. But Vision never questions it, and they appreciate that.

 

* * *

 

It’s Sam who first **_asks_** them about it.

He does not wait for them to part, even for the brief moments they do to wash and go to the toilet, or other tiny moments they are increasingly adding to their behaviours. Being apart is still hard for them, but they know sometimes they will have to work apart. They prefer to be together however, and that is how he finds them. He walks up to them, before they leave after training.

“What exactly is with you two?”

Wanda knows his mind isn’t exactly open at the moment, but it doesn’t need to be. They know how they are, how they have always been, planets orbiting each other, and Pietro hurling himself in the path of anything that might hurt her. Pietro doesn’t answer Sam. He waits for Wanda.

“What do you mean?”

Sam is silent for a few moments, arms still crossed. “You two… you’re very close.”

“We’re twins.” Wanda’s tone is as empty of deceit as the Widow can make it, and she wonders if that is a mistake.

Sam’s tone only proves her right. “And that’s all?”

Pietro’s hand touches Wanda’s shoulder. It is not protective, not without her asking him to be. It is waiting, it is ready. If their new ally turns on them, he is waiting to protect her. Down the bridge between their minds Wanda counsels patience, and Pietro’s hand retracts.

“What else would we be?” With that Wanda turns, reaches for her brother’s hand, and squeezes it briefly as they leave the room. Wanda can feel Sam’s eyes tracking them, but does not turn. Pietro does not turn either.

 

* * *

 

In training Sam watches them more closely.

When going over exercises he starts to point out the small diversions they make from the standard method. Pietro is about to say something rude, when Vision steps in, pointing out that variability means unpredictability, and that nothing is a greater aid in battle. Sam backs off.

 

* * *

 

The next to ask is Clint. He is careful in what he says, like a bird in what they sing. Where sometimes he is laughing, joking, a jester, not a hawk, today he is his namesake, quiet, and waiting, and watching. His stance is casual, that they see. His mind is not, and that, Wanda knows.

“Sam thinks you’re closer than twins usually are.”

Pietro shrugs a shoulder, where he stands behind Wanda, and Wanda waits for a question.

“Not that I don’t think you’re freakishly close, but it’s not something to worry about. You’ve already seen me and Nat.”

They wait, and watch back.

“… Is there anything you want me to tell them? Vision thinks you’re good, and he’s a better judge than some of us.”

Wanda glances up to her brother, and decides. She looks back to Barton.

“We were forged again in fire.”

Barton nods, understanding without question. Wanda thinks it may be something to do with **_Budapest_** but does not ask. With a squeak of his boot, Clint turns on his heel and leaves.

 

* * *

 

There is a skirmish outside. Protests have grown rarer, but some people are still displeased with the Twins’ presence, with the Vision’s, with Stark’s tech, and with Natasha. One of the invaders trips an alarm, and within seconds they are at battle stations.

Wanda barely has time to wake; she is scooped up, swung into body armour, and carried outside, at speeds only Pietro can manage. The battle is quick, gunfire rattling, quick communication over comms, as Hawkeye and Falcon observe from so high up they can see it all.

Vision flies among them all, the beam of light from the stone in his forehead lighting what the floodlights cannot, and raining destruction on those who would hurt them. Pietro moves so quickly between each blast, striking them himself, faster than they can stop him. Wanda follows between, scarlet darting from her hands, hypnotising, twisting, pulling guns from their hands and taking them apart before her brother can touch them. It is almost a game to them.

Wanda did learn in training, to dismantle guns, rather than explode them, but when she sees one man train a gun on the trail Pietro leaves in the air her control snaps. The gun doesn’t explode. The man’s helmet **_does_**.

 

* * *

 

Afterward they are sat in medical, as a scratch high on Wanda’s cheek is treated. She leans against Pietro beside her, and relaxes as his arm gently circles her shoulder. He is humming the lullaby this time, not singing it, but it is enough. Wanda is soon asleep, and Pietro carries her gently to bed, and tucks her in, still humming.

Pietro knows they watch them, but he does not care. He has never cared, not since Wanda punched the one who implied they were other than they are. If it matters enough Wanda will fix it. If not, he will simply be ready. He waits until he feels her mind relax like melting water, stretching down the bridge in their minds out of instinct born of necessity. He will protect her from nightmares.

He takes her hand, and settles into his own bed.

 

* * *

 

They talk, the next day, before they go to meet the others in the kitchen. Pietro needed only to send a hint of his concern to his sister and she waits before they leave. Pietro is painfully still on his bed, a coiled spring, waiting to expand, and Wanda stands by the door, nervous twitches sending scarlet light in delicate curlicues down to the floor, sweeping dust aside.

“What is the plan?”

“We wait.”

Pietro does not frown, or if he does it is not visible. He is operating at full speed, for all he seems still, and his mind is bouncing possibilities, probabilities, chances and reason, and coming up concerned.

“They already think—”

“They do not think wrongly. Not yet.”

“Wanda, if they—”

“I will tell you. You know I will.” She catches his fingers as she steps forward, and Pietro rubs his thumb over her hand. Even in concern their usual affection seeps through. They have been so long as they are that to be different was incomprehensible, and that the others did not see it as it was, was… frustrating.

“I do not think I trust them.”

Wanda smiles and Pietro’s rushing mind slows in relaxation.

“I do not think they trust us entirely either.”

 

* * *

 

The only one to note their lateness to breakfast is Vision, but all he does is nod to them both. Pietro knows Wanda is relaxed around him, and that he saved her life. He has yet to thank the android for that, or for bringing him back, and he reminds himself to do so.

He does not thank often, but, to Pietro’s mind, Vision deserves them both.

 

* * *

 

Pietro watches Vision in training after this. He knows Wanda watches the others, to guess who might next challenge their siblinghood, or to pluck it from their minds, but Pietro cares more for physical threats than mental. He will be there if Wanda needs him, and she knows that. So he watches the one who saved his sister, and with her, his mind, and the one who brought him back, and prepares to thank him.

Vision is peaceful. If he does not have to do harm he will not, even in training, but when harm becomes necessary he does not flinch. Pietro approves. When he is free of training he is usually interfacing with J.A.R.V.I.S, integrated into the building so, as Stark said, “He always as a parent he can go to.”

The twins both thought it odd, Stark being more ready to show affection to his programs and robots than to people, but did not question it. Everyone has their dangerous dependencies, in some form or another, and Stark’s was as obvious as theirs.

 

* * *

 

_Pietro has always known his sister can protect herself. She is stronger than him in many ways, and by far cleverer, but he is still the elder. It is still his duty to protect her. There has never been a time she could not relax in his presence, and even if he was hurting someone who would hurt them she was calm if he was there._

_Likewise Wanda has always been aware of what will help and hurt her twin. Anyone who hurts him has then to deal with her, and Wanda does not hold back when her only remaining family is on the line. They have learned how to read each other, until it was instinctive, and with the growth of their powers the bond they shared deepened._

_(They had first learned of the link when Pietro had a nightmare of the day their parents died. Wanda stepped in, into the dream, and lifted rubble and lifted him **out**. Since then they kept the bond active even in sleep, and had no nightmares.)_

 

* * *

 

Pietro is not good at thank yous. Speaking words that have meaning to any other than his twin is often odd, and he is content to let Wanda be the mouthpiece of them both. Similarly he does not like being on his own, and he could not thank Vision for what he did with his sister present.

Vision spots him standing to one side, and notices he lacks his twin.

“Mr. Maximoff. Are you alright?”

Pietro nods, quickly. He wants to give his thanks and have it **_over_** but words do not come easily without his twin, and Wanda is talking with the Widow.

“Your sister?”

“She’s with Natasha.”

“Did you want to speak with me?”

Pietro **_wants_** nothing more than to flee, and feels his sister's mind twitch as his anxiety grows. He forces himself to speak.

“The battle. Wanda. You got her off the rock.” His feet are starting to tap, shifting from side to side in jitters he hasn’t had since the experiments. “And after… you helped bring me back. I wanted to say thank you.” Pietro’s fingers start to twitch.

The androids smile is beatific, but genuine. “You are most welcome.” He turns to leave, but stops when Pietro speaks again.

“I, also… You don’t question how Wanda and I are. The others do. Thank you.”

Visions voice is gentle. “You have been through a lot together. It makes sense you would be close.”

Pietro relaxes in relief, and smiles, “Yeah.”

“Would you like me to talk to the others about it?”

Pietro pauses, thinks, and shakes his head. If Wanda wants them told anything she would say. Silence is best, he decides, until then. “No. It’s nothing.”

The androids expression suggests it is anything but, yet he smiles, nods, and goes on his way.

Pietro relaxes into a run, and appears at his sister’s side.

 

* * *

 

_Wanda does not ask what he was up to. He does not ask what she was discussing with the Widow. They long ago moved beyond such concerns, and simply **trust**. If it is important they will say. Until then they are fine._

 

* * *

 

Natasha ceases to be a significant part of Wanda’s watchlist. Though at first she seemed uncertain of the Twins, with Clint’s increased presence at the facility she has relaxed, and simply accepts them how they are. When she is not trying to track down Banner, she talks with them peaceably, and teaches them tricks to help in training.

Stark side-eyes them sometimes, but never says anything. He clearly finds them weird, but is more prone to making jokes, than probing. Given the looks Colonel Rhodes and the Widow give him sharp points were made about his own dependency on tech, and he makes no attempt to remark on their persistent reliance on each other.

 

* * *

 

_Sometimes they feel like one soul in two bodies, when they move. They know where to go to find the other, just how far they need to reach a hand to touch their twin's, and often without even looking. Wanda says their minds are glaringly different, and Pietro knows their powers set them apart, but when it comes down to it they agree on one thing. Twins share a soul._

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. My brain refused to shut up. There may be third chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team is not yet whole, for all they work toward it. Teambuilding exercises are sometimes fun, and tracking down lost friends necessary, and Pietro still does not understand what Wanda means of minds.

Things are peaceful awhile.

While the others are still uncertain, from what Wanda can tell, they do not question them. Every night the twins bed down together, in separate beds, and hold hands in the gap between. Every day they train, knowing where the other is placed instinctively, and ever ready to react. At one point the Captain suggests they spar against each other, only to find them perfectly matched. Wanda’s tricks can halt her brother, and no matter how fast Pietro can go he would never strike her.

Colonel Rhodes tells them they at least should try, in case one of them gets affected by another sceptre. Together they refuse.

“Besides,” Wanda says. “Where one of us goes, the other will inevitably follow.”

The Vision smiles at that, but to the others it is no such comfort.

 

* * *

 

_Pietro still finches when he thinks Wanda is in danger. By now, with his speed, it is barely visible to most people, but it still happens. From the first time someone raised a hand to Wanda, to any battles now, he is at her side, and he is ready to step in. He knows she lost him, and she brought him back. He does not think it would work the other way._

_(When someone raises a gun near Pietro, Wanda’s hands go red. She has talked to Sam about it, asking if there are ways to not immediately try to fight at the sight of it, but for all Sam wishes he could use his guns without risk of friendly fire the reflex shows no sign of fading.)_

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, in the evening, Wanda tries to show Pietro how she found him. He does not completely understand – the mind is her domain after all – but he does not care. His sister is shining when she tells him how she did it, happy and beautiful, and he cannot bring himself to ask her to stop.

One evening, Wanda notices the odd tilt of his mind.

_Pietro?_

With practice they have made the bridge between their minds clearer. It was suggested by Vision, outside of training, and they have practiced assiduously. No longer can they only see through each other’s eyes, and pass emotions and ideas between themselves. Now they can speak, if they focus enough.

Wanda picked it up fastest.

Pietro blinks, and assures her it is nothing.

Wanda frowns. _You can tell me, if something is the matter._

Pietro is quiet for a few moments. He does not think he should mention many of the observations he has made, and he is certain that some of them Wanda has already made herself. She settles against him, leans her head against his shoulder, and he lifts a hand to stroke her hair.

“I thanked Vision the other day, for saving you, and bringing me back to life.”

He knows Wanda’s eyes are closed as he begins to braid her hair. _And?_ She asks.

“I thanked him for not asking how we are, as the others have. I think he thinks we should talk to the others about it. That they would understand if we explained.”

Wanda gives a small hum, and shifts how she is sitting. “We should wait. When they realise how wrong they are they’ll be more sorry if we do not fill in the gaps for them. Besides, I do not think it will matter soon.”

Wanda’s hair moves in the gust of air from Pietro’s huffed laugh. _You are sure?_

_Yes._

 

* * *

 

One evening, after training, the twins find the others settled in a circle. Some of the medics are there, and most of the team. Stark is there too, with a large (very large) bottle of vodka. They are waved over, and take seats opposite on one of the sofas. They’ve not had cause to sit on the sofas much, preferring to stay in their rooms, the kitchen, or training. They are surprisingly comfortable.

Pietro glances around the circle, but it is Wanda who asks, and the Widow who answers.

“Stark wants us to play ‘Never Have I Ever’. He claims it’s a ‘Team Bonding Exercise’.”

The fingerquotes she gives it get an “ _Aww, Nat_ ” from Stark, and the rest of the circle laughs as shot glasses are distributed.

“What are the rules?”

Stark looks aghast, and Clint explains. “Everyone takes a turn to say something they’ve not done, and anyone who **has** done the thing has to drink. It’s an excuse to get very, very drunk.”

Cap grabs the bottle from Stark, and starts.

“Never have I ever,” he says, in a tone that suggests he’s already endured this ‘Team Bonding Exercise’ before, “become paranoid because of _The Communist Manifesto_.”

Stark slams his glass onto the coffee table, and beckons for the bottle. He quickly downs his shot, and, cuddling the bottle, thinks of his turn.

“Never have I ever…” the trailing off sounds intentional, until the pause goes on for half a minute. Nat pokes him with her toe. “Never have I ever _been so offended_.”

Natasha laughs, Clint nearly rolls over backwards, and Rhodes, Sam and Cap all drink. The bottle goes to Natasha.

She stares straight ahead, at the wall over Rhodes’ head as she speaks, tone innocent. “Never have I ever fallen off a ten story building, landed on a truck, been so concussed I thought I was a sausage roll, and almost rolled onto the subway tracks.”

Everyone laughs at this, and, petulantly, Clint takes the bottle and pours himself a shot, grumbling under his breath, before taking it.

“Damn you, Nat.”

He rolls the bottle between his feet before smiling wickedly. “Never have I ever… _used secret mission proceedings to get a friend drunk_.”

Natasha concedes this, and takes her shot, and the monstrosity of a bottle gets passed to Vision. As yet the twins have drunk nothing.

Vision is quiet, in his peaceful way, before speaking.

“Never have I ever,” he says, face peaceful, smile beatific, “had sex.”

The circle groans and beckoning fingers beg the bottle, passing it around until it reaches the twins, on Vision’s other side. They pass it back to Vision.

Stark looks shocked. “You two? You’ve never?”

Pietro and Wanda shrug. Wanda speaks. “It wasn’t interesting to us.”

Stark sputters but Sam speaks. “Some people don’t need sex like you do Stark. Not everyone is a nymphomaniac.”

Cap looks incredibly awkward, as Vision passes the bottle to Wanda. “So you two… you’re not…?”

Pietro rolls his eyes, and speaks, “We are not in an incestuous relationship. We can be close and not be fucking.” He drawls out the profanity, making the point. “Ask Clint or Natasha.”

The two in question shrug, and eyes turn to Wanda. She plays with the metal ribbon the cap left on the bottle neck, spinning it around. “Never have I ever played this game before.”

The groans repeat and Stark makes a complaint about “kids ruining the fun”. Pietro glances at Wanda as he takes his turn, and his grin is huge.

“Never have I ever _sounded like such an old man_.”

 

* * *

 

_The twins do not drink much that evening. Only twice, when the points were oddly sombre (“Never have I ever done something stupidly reckless and been enhanced” from Stark and “Never have I ever purposefully destroyed sentient tech” from one of the medics), and so they are clearheaded as they return to their rooms._

_Others pass them in the hall, waving and calling good night, and the twins slip into bed, holding hands in the gap between their beds. It is as Pietro drifts into sleep he realises how Wanda was right. It doesn’t matter now what the others think of them._

 

* * *

 

When Natasha thinks she has finally found where Banner is they are, all of them, mobilised. It’s in the middle of nowhere and there have been reports of a giant monster in the woods. With or without permission Thunderbolt Ross has decided to move in, and none of them would let Bruce end up in that man’s hands.

They are met, at the forest, by Betty Ross.

She eyes the twins warily, but nods to Natasha. “Thank you for telling me.”

The Widow nods. “Do you think you can distract your father while we go in?”

Betty nods. “I’m not letting Dad catch Bruce. Last time…” her voice is soft, and almost shakes. “I’m not letting Bruce go through that again. You’ll get him out?”

Natasha nods, “We’ll get him out. Thank you.”

Betty leaves, rattling down the trail in a battered rental truck, and they start to arrange how they’ll go in. The monster has only been seen in the mountain, and only in glimpses. None of the reports have a colour, just dirty, big, and angry, and they aren’t even sure if it’s Hulk.

Stark points out that Ross is going after it, and Natasha nods. “That’s why I think it’s him.”

 

* * *

 

Most of the way they go in trucks. S.H.I.E.L.D. is helping them, what there is of it, but only they make the journey. Only they are really close enough to the Hulk to bring him _out_ , for all other agents have fought beside the big green monster.

As they climb the mountain, they realise they may be late.

Trees have been cleared ahead of them, and a moving perimeter set up. Ross is ready, and he brought out the big guns.

 

* * *

 

Pietro and Hawkeye are designated the scouts, and head out. Pietro refuses to carry Hawkeye, but offers him a piggyback ride, hauling the archer through most of the woods until they find the most recent tracks. Then Pietro sprints back, and grabs Wanda.

Tracks, they had all decided, only meant so much with trees as large as these. Hulk could climb, would climb, **_did_** climb, if the Battle of New York was anything to go by, and Wanda’s skill with minds was as necessary to track him down, as Natasha’s skill with the Lullaby was to calm him. Wanda stood in a clearing, and sent out scarlet feelers.

 

* * *

 

It took time for the others to make their way up the mountain. The track was incomplete, parts flooded or blocked by trees, and other parts intersected by Ross’ encampment. It took time enough that Ross found them before they got there.

 

* * *

 

Wanda’s scarlet light danced through the forest. Danced up trees, round bushes, and sought out the living. Animals it passed by, plants it ignored, humans it made sleep. It sought the big, and the green. It sent out a crimson pulse, as fine as to be visible to Wanda and to Pietro, but not many else. Pietro sprinted for it.

 

* * *

 

Through the distance Wanda closed her eyes to see better through her brother’s. She could not use her powers through her brother, but she could tell him how to Lullaby, if it came to it. Hawkeye was scouting elsewhere, trying to find the others. She did not notice when Ross arrived.

 

* * *

 

Pietro found Hulk easily. He was huge, and green, even under the dirt, and it did not take much for him to tease the creature down the mountainside, and toward where Wanda and Clint waited. Pietro was glad for his speed, as they descended. He did not think he could keep up with Hulk’s pace otherwise, nor avoid the occasional hurled branches.

 

* * *

 

Wanda was waiting for them, in the clearing. Eyes still shut, scarlet dancing around her hands, she faced off into the woods. Behind her stood Ross. Pietro did not have time to call out as Ross fired a weapon.

The blue light went skimming past Wanda, ripped through her coat, through her armour, through her side, and only their speed saved Pietro and the Hulk. Hulk launched himself into the trees, then battered down on Ross and his men. Pietro ran to his sister.

Blood. Blood on her skin, her clothes, on the ground and on his hands. He reached toward their bridge and found it fraying, and tore through their bond toward his sister’s mind.

_Wanda. Wanda stay with me, Wanda please, Wanda **please**._

He was not a medic. He was not Banner. All he could do was apply pressure, and hope. In his sister’s mind he looked for the fading light and gave it his own, cradled it together, and tried to keep her present. He took her pain from her and felt her mind curl into his. It was agony.

A large fingered green hand entered his vision, and Pietro looked up. Behind Hulk Ross’ men had scattered. Ross himself was pinned to a tree with seat belts ripped from the vehicles, and then several vehicles for good measure. The weapons were crushed. The Hulk’s face was tentative.

Pietro uncurled from around his sister, and with a simple movement Hulk picked her up. Pietro didn’t know what Hulk meant to do, but knew what the others said, what the record reported. The mind was his sister’s domain, but he had learned to read actions. The Hulk knew when people meant him harm, and knew when he could help.

He followed Hulk, hurtling through the forest, and hurtled behind him.

 

* * *

 

The encampment was armed, but Hulk did not appear to care. When shots were fired Pietro plucked them from the air, when guns were reloaded Pietro removed the firing pins. Hulk crashed through the tents and trucks, and headed for the one marked with the big, red cross.

The tent was not big enough for the Hulk, so he ducked, and Pietro ran three circuits through the encampment, disarming every weapon he found, and joined them. Betty could not believe her eyes. Across the table, where Wanda had been set, Hulk stumbled back, crumpled to the ground, and shrank down into Banner. Pietro passed him a doctor’s coat, and, together, Bruce and Betty set to work healing Wanda.

_Wanda stay with me, Wanda please._

 

* * *

 

They turned at the sound of gunfire, and headed toward the encampment. Over comms Natasha directed Clint in, and above them all Sam and Vision flew. Vision could see more clearly than them all, and dropped silently into the baffled base.

“Where is the General?”

Soldiers shrugged, and one pointed into the woods. With a few words over comms Vision informed Stark and Falcon, and they headed off to search them out.

“What happened?”

“Big-”

“Green-”

“Silver streak-”

“This girl in Hulk’s arms-”

“They’re in medical.”

The last was the most coherent and Vision nodded thanks. It took only a moment for him to fly to the tent.

Pietro was sat by the table where Wanda lay. He sat at the head, out of the way, and held Wanda’s hand as gently as one might hold something delicate. Doctors Banner and Ross worked around them, passing sutures and antiseptic and rolls of bandage, carefully treating the huge singed gash on Wanda’s side. Pietro’s head was bowed, and Vision could see the play of his mind.

The bridge between them was bright. It was what he had first noticed about them when he met them, their mental bridge. Scarlet at her end, silver-blue at his, and mingling in soft greys in between. It was also, as he watched, fading.

He remembered the battle, and how Wanda had looked when he had gone to take her from the rock. The threads of her bond to her brother were frayed lose from her head, scarlet tatters waving in some imperceptible wind. He wonders, sadly, if he will see it happen again, see silver-blue tatters floating free from Pietro’s scalp, and looks more closely.

Between them Bruce and Betty work quickly, and set down bandages. Wanda is unconscious, from pain, from tranquilisers, from painkillers, and Pietro’s free hand skims over Wanda’s brow.

Vision can see the darting thought that goes from his mind to his sister’s.

 

* * *

 

_Wanda, stay with me, Wanda please._

Their bridge is fading. Around him the threads of it are falling loose, and Pietro vaguely wonders if the weapon was based on Chitauri tools. He discards the thought, and watches the bridge more closely. The bridge was a construct of his sister’s, a testing mechanism after she had first realised her gifts. Pietro realises then, that it needs his input, if it is to stay whole.

Pulling from his mind he takes his thoughts, swifter than a loom shuttle, and weaves between the anchoring threads of the bridge. Where the threads have gone thin and frayed loose he weaves his own, blue and silver and grey. Where the gulf is too wide he pulls liquid emotion from his mind, silver worry, mercurial concern, lightning-white anger, and weaves that in too.

The emotions pool, forming wide discs in the bridge, mirroring back his face, his sister’s face, their parent’s faces. The thread frames them, pulling taut gaping edges, and he ventures through the stabilised bridge, and tries to wake his sister.

_Wanda? Wanda, please._

 

* * *

 

By the time the others arrive Wanda has reached a semi-conscious state. She is not well enough to be moved, not by the trucks, and though her brother offered his blood for what she had lost they had no tubes for transfusion. Pietro holds her hand, and says nothing.

 

* * *

 

“We can call in a Quinjet, but it might take time.” Natasha is all efficiency, helping them decide what works best.

“Vision could fly her out, to a hospital?” Clint’s suggestion is simple, but Vision shakes his head.

“A buffet of wind could hurt her worse. Besides, I do not think her brother would wish to be parted from her right now.”

They glance to the twins. Pietro ignored them in favour of his sister. Wanda was barely awake.

Pietro wants to pace, wants to hold his sisters hand, wants to give his blood to Wanda, so its speed can help her heal. He wants to punch Thunderbolt Ross until he is nothing but a bloody smear, and he wants to hold his sister without it causing her pain. Within him, anger simmers.

Wanda’s hand is gentle on his. Her fingers ill-coordinated and occasionally sparking a comforting spray of scarlet over Pietro’s hand. In the bridge between their minds her mental form is fuzzy, but there, and she curls in the arms of Pietro’s mental form, and looks at what he wrought on their bridge.

_It’s beautiful._

_You think so? I thought our colours clash._

Pietro’s mental voice was teasing, the only thing he could easily be when so worried. In the physical world another spray of scarlet spread from Wanda’s fingers.

_It’s perfect. And it kept the bridge in place. It would have killed me if the bridge broke again._

Pietro says nothing, knowing Wanda is perfectly sincere. The last time the bridge broke he had died, and with Wanda so injured it would be a simple thing for her to give up life.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end. All done. No more, brain, please no more.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I watched Age of Ultron a while back with friends, and I adore the twins. I know there is a lot of stuff about the retcon that is very very fucked up, but I cannot help but love the dynamic they have in the film (which is something I have also talked about [Here](http://essayofthoughts.tumblr.com/post/117368593565/massive-huge-fuck-off-spoiler-warnings-for-age-of)) and the way Wanda reacted at Pietro's death made me wonder several things.
> 
> From that pondering, and the tech in the film, was born this fic. Also the fact that apparently Joss Whedon didn't want people bringing back Coulson? So I assume he doesn't want people bringing back Pietro either. FUCK YOU JOSS I WANT PIETRO BACK. So yes. This is a thing wrote as a result.


End file.
